


아파 (Sick)

by lazyeggs



Category: GOT7
Genre: Angst, Cancer, Chronic Illness, Coma, Depression, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hospitals, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Literature, Love Poems, M/M, Mutual Pining, Possible Character Death, References to Depression, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Suicide Attempt, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-06-21 15:25:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15560760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazyeggs/pseuds/lazyeggs
Summary: Chronically ill Choi Youngjae encounters a dorky black-haired boy one stormy night at the hospitals vending machines. He learns that the older boy, Park Jinyoung, his name is, just recently started volunteering at the hospital. Youngjae can't help but spend most of his time deep in thought about the pretty volunteer with a breathtaking smile and soft eyes.





	1. impatience versus patience anytime, simply because that's the way in our world.

The soft, indistinct beeping, the same tone that used to drive the frail boy mad the first week he was admitted to that boring room, was muted by the soft drizzles on the window. The occasional crackles of electricity flying through the sky.

Melodramatic drops of the rain dripped down the glass violently, as if it was the sky’s way of begging the pale kid to acknowledge the atmosphere. To take it all in, to shut his eyes and let it take over, until he too was a part of the storm.

And some days, he desperately wanted that. He wanted to give up, wanted to let the chemicals, flowing through his blood in attempt to kill off the chronic illness, to just kill him instead. Because some days, he decided that maybe, just maybe, it would be additionally peaceful to let the suffering end. The suffering. Waking up several times throughout most nights, curling nearly in half at the ache in his abdomen, screaming in pain, not being able to stand up before puking up nearly all of his insides. Not being able to walk or stand too much after rounds because he could have a fainting spell cast upon him at any moment.

That was the worst part about it all, to the boy. The endless suffering, caused by pathetic attempts to keep him alive. Candidly, he would go back in time and let himself lose consciousness before it all begun, as long as it meant he wouldn’t have to endure the same suffering he had to force himself through.

He used to be afraid of storms, used to, that is, until he was obliged to waste the vast majority of his time and life in the depressing room. He hated it. He hated the stupid beige walls, the white and ugly-blue sheets, how it always smelled sanitary, _too_  sanitary, or like his own vomit. The room always felt like Antarctica to him, all because of the stupid chemicals that were supposed to keep him alive.

_If keeping him alive meant keeping him mentally **there** , then it wasn’t working out too well._

He did have the days where he felt euphoric and hopeful for the first time in forever. Almost like he could make it past this and recover, like he wasn’t dying.

But, god, if you’re out there,  _ **help**. _

_If there was a god, they wouldn't let anyone or anything suffer of this._

His eyelids kept trying heavy themselves, trying to force themselves closed to slip into the release of sleep. But he wanted to stay awake, wanted to admire the captivating beauty in the bittersweetness of the nature. The way he could see the reflections when the lightning would hammer its way to the scene, and how the raindrops on the fingerprint-smudged glass would make it look and feel so much more gentle than the reality was.

He didn’t bother to bat an eyelash when the door swung open, his nurse flicking the light-switch carelessly.

“ _Youngjae-ssi_ , it’s time for us to start the next round,” The nurse announced, almost like she was talking to nobody, voice always so monotone and numb to the young boy’s situation. “Might as well get it over with.”

The fragile boy, Youngjae, let out a loud huff of air in protest before he swung his legs over the edge of the window-sill, slowly putting the pressure of his weight on his feet, careful not to get up too fast and spiral into dizziness.

“I know, kid, but we don’t have all day.” The nurse said through a fake smile, probably through gritted teeth as well. Youngjae rolled his eyes.

“ _Ganhosa-nim_ , Impatience versus patience anytime, simply because that's the way in our world.” He hummed, hands in the pockets of his baggy grey sweatpants, waltzing to the bed, not hesitating to sit down on the flimsy mattress that he had grown used to.

“Ah, Mr. Choi, reading again, I see,” The nurse chuckled in response, moving away the oversized fabric on the young patient’s sweater to attach the intravenous infusion to the implanted port in Youngjae’s chest. “You may get on my nerves, but your exquisite love for literature never fails to amuse me.”

Youngjae hummed in response, closing his eyes to avoid watching the needle go into the port.

“All done, Youngjae- _ssi_.” The nurse said after a minute or two, placing a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder and patting it. Youngjae opened his eyes, looking down awkwardly at the tubes coming out from his chest.

“I always feel like I’m getting experimented on by aliens whenever I have to get this shit done.” Youngjae frowned, earning a sympathetic chuckle from the nurse.

“Do you need anything else, Mr. Choi? Water or a snack?”

Youngjae shook his head softly, looking back out the window at the dreary sky presenting itself to the two.

“I’m okay, thank you, _Ganhosa-nim_. I might go on a walk later.” Youngjae said quietly, mesmerized by the storm. Of course, because of the boy’s chronic illness, Ewing’s Sarcoma, to be exact, a ‘walk’ typically just meant either rolling through the hall in a wheelchair, or walking carefully, if he was lucky.

Youngjae had been diagnosed with the illness for a year, now, far too along in the condition to be guaranteed a cure. He was basically terminal, although the doctors would never say it to his face, or his family’s.

He had been nearly 16 at the time, and he had always experienced dull aches in his abdomen, always assuming it was normal growing pains or something of the such. Maybe his stomach was just sensitive to certain foods. Youngjae always shrugged it off, until he nearly passed out during dinner with his parents one night after yelling out in pain, clutching his abdomen and quickly forgetting the meal in front of him.

His parents were distraught, to say the least, and didnt hesitate to take the boy straight to the emergency room. They thought that, maybe worst case scenario, their son had a case of appendicitis and would have to get the organ removed, then they would continue with their lives.

Because of such, you can only imagine how perturbed they had been after receiving an urgent call from the hospital the next day, telling them to bring Youngjae back, as they had discovered an abnormality in the xray’s.

It was agonizing, for everyone, especially Youngjae, to hear that the boy had been diagnosed with Ewing’s Sarcoma, a rare form of cancer. Not just a rare form of cancer, but a rare-form-of-that-form-of-cancer. Youngjae had a tumor in the soft tissue of his abdomen, which was starting to spread. They immediately decided to start him on chemotherapy and radiation, with parent’s permission, of course.

At first, the treatment was going well, until they took the boy in for a check-up scan and found he had a new tumor developing in one of his lungs.

Youngjae realized he was going to die. For the first time in his entire life, death became so very real and inevitable to him, a feeling he was not ready for nor would ever be ready for.

He went from being the hyperactive, giggly, optimistic ball of sunshine, to being a pale broken skeleton, under-eyes sunken in and constantly shaking from being cold all the time. Funny how quickly you can be so happy and excited for the future one second and so depressed and hopeless the next. He was used to the feeling, though, and yes, he was internally depressed, but depression is a side effect of cancer. He cared too much about others to let them worry about him. 

So he kept it inside.

He kept all of it on the inside for the times he was alone, moments like these, where the only noise keeping him company was the sound of his own heartbeat on a computer next to him and the beeping of the machinery that was pumping chemicals into his blood to kill him from the inside out. That's how he thought of it, at least.

It was moments like these, where he knew there was nobody to adjourn with his selfish sobs. Where he could finally let his body take over and dampen the pillow with liquid sorrow and hiccup into his sleeve quietly. Letting his eyelids flutter closed, draining out his emotions for the day so that he could collect more the next. Which would without a doubt, be nothing but misery and heartache. It was a routine he had grown used to, though. As the lightning lit up the dull room, the sound of heavy downfall mixed with his own shattered sobs, he would let himself drift into sleep, hoping it would be the last time he would fall asleep.

_Hold love ones close to you_

_Don't stray away whatever you do_

_Once the time you have is gone it's gone_

_And the feeling is unbearable_

_Time waits on no one_


	2. when i saw you i fell in love, and you smiled because you knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter is so short, i mainly just wanted to get into learning more about the characters backstories and how they met before getting into more of the plot >-< hope u all enjoy this chapter though!! ^^
> 
> twt: @iazyeggs (yes thats an i not an L)

Park Jinyoung fancied volunteering at the hospital. He had been pressured into joining an inpatient program at one of the psychiatric wards attached to the hospital, a few years back in junior high. Jinyoung despised hospitals, yes, they brought back many melancholy memories, the ones that would snake their way into your mind late at night and leave a bitter taste in your mouth.

While Jinyoung did indeed have a passionate dislike for hospitals, which was reasonable in his case, he did enjoy to spend a fair amount of his spare time at the hospital. The children’s hospital, to be exact. He was technically allowed to visit the young patients there (because he was _just_  over the age of minority) who were all struggling, not sure if they would wake up to see the next sunrise, some of which were barely even old enough to be mentally aware of the actuality they were dying.

Yes, Jinyoung wanted to die, he definitely wasn’t opposed to the idea, but that didn’t mean he was heartless; that didn’t mean he wanted anybody else to suffer.

He was remarkably compassionate - Jinyoung was kindhearted.

No matter how much he wanted to end his own life sometimes, no matter how many times he had landed himself in that very hospital for ‘accidentally taking too many allergy pills’ or ‘accidentally’ cutting himself while ‘chopping vegetables’ for homemade kimchi - Jinyoung had a passion for bringing a genuine smile to others. He thought of himself as an error, and his heart was dulled from pathetically attempting to escape from the reality of it all an uncountable amount of times - but being able to bring euphoria to those who didn’t even get a chance at this whole shit-show, that was what warmed Jinyoung’s heart just enough to latch onto a new perspective of life for a sliver of a moment.

And it was also quite convenient that the volunteer service gave him more credits towards graduating highschool - Jinyoung had missed a year and a half while he was somewhat recovering in the ward.

Oh, the ward. Spending time, as a patient, in thepsychiatric wards, was something Jinyoung could never _ever_  desire upon another sentient being. Not only had he just physically recovered from an attempt at cutting his years short, but the overall experience of the ward was indisputably unforgettable.

 

_Jinyoung had been barely fourteen, still a pre-pubescent, frail, lanky middle-school student. He had always been an absolute outsider, academically being higher than his peers. Because of his academic skill, teachers adored him, and when Jinyoung reached middle-school, it became apparent to him that becoming so idolized by the middle aged adults wasn’t necessarily trendy at his age group._

_The taunting started when he was eleven, minuscule, mostly harmless phrases shot his way. It still managed to get to him, though._

_He didn’t understand why he had to be punished for enjoying his education, why he had to be punished for being so proud of his abilities. Jinyoung would come home from school crying most days, running through the door and wrapping his arms around his mother just to be shooed away and told to ‘build a bridge and get over it’. His parents didn’t care. Why should they care if he’s getting good grades?_

_Once Jinyoung became aware of the fact that neither his mother nor his father would **ever**  care, no matter how much he sobbed pathetically into the fabric on their torsos, that’s when it **really**  started to spiral out of control._

_Years flew by, and Jinyoung had been way past the beginning of the physical assault at that point. He never even thought about it possibly being the fault of his abusers. Because he had done it to himself. He let himself become naive, he let himself show on display for everyone to openly attack, to take their stress out on. Jinyoung had never even tried to stop them - because he knew he had deserved it. Every word that pierced through his eardrums and tattooed his mind, every glare that blinded his eyes, every punch and every kick that would discolor his golden skin. The dark welts littering his ribcage, his knees, occasionally his face - he deserved them all._

_And if he had deserved all of the assault - then he had deserved to die. He deserved a drawn-out, miserable death. So that’s what Jinyoung had decided upon his fate. That afternoon, he didn’t even bother to drop his bag in the hall before slamming the bathroom door shut, erupting a loud yell from his mother to stop rising so much commotion. He didn’t care though. Staring into the smudged mirror of the fluorescent-lit bathroom, Jinyoung could barely recognize himself. His glasses were tilted, lenses smeared with dried tears and fingerprints, swollen marks on his jaw, right beside his earlobe, the darkened irises of his eyes, bloodshot._

_His breath was heavy and loud. While he stared up at himself for what felt as centuries, while he rummaged through the plastic drawers beside the sink, popping open a bottle of who knows what kind of medication, pouring the contents into his shaky palm. The soft tablets should have felt so wrong against his skin, sticky with sweat, tears, and his own, or others, blood. It should have felt wrong when he popped as many he could in his mouth, pausing to force down a cup of water from the squeaky marble sink, stained from toothpaste and small litters of shaved facial hair spread along the surface._

_Jinyoung let himself lay on the cold floor of the bathroom, staring at the growing puddle of salty tears._

_He found himself curled between the wall and the toilet, flat edge razor in hand, dipping it into the flesh on his inner arm, **pressing** , taking out all of his bottled up emotions on his own body - just like the others had done to him. Just like he had deserved._

_With the cold metal sliding across his skin, ripping at the seams of his body, Jinyoung let out a loud cry. The last thing he could remember after that moment was the sound of metal hitting the tile, angry footsteps on the wood planks of the hallway. His hearing was absent after the footsteps. His eyes shut tight, wetness pooling around him, only understanding the distinct pounding of his heartbeat in his ears, his own broken inhales, someone’s arm wrapping itself around his boney torso, attempting to lift his limp body_.

 

Now, Jinyoung found himself, five years later, jamming a crumpled paper bill in the slot of one of the vending machines at the end of the hall.

He had appeared at the hospital hours earlier into the day for his volunteer duty, visitor patch safety-pinned onto his white turtleneck. Jinyoung had already seen some of his usual ‘patients’ in the lounge and played silly games with them, singing softly to some of the youngers at their request. It wasn’t until the lightning begun that he realized he /really/ did /not/ want to take the buses home in the stormy weather, as much as he would rather sleep in his own familiar bed, rather than the wooden seats of the waiting room. It was around 10:30 at night the last time Jinyoung had checked his phone, and he sheepishly decided to get a snack to cure his hunger once his stomach erupted into song in the middle of the quiet waiting room, muttering out an apology with flushed ears as elderly patients and parents glared at him.

The small machine happily hummed, accepting the bill and un-whirling the metal around the bag of crisps he had entered the number of.

Jinyoung knelt down at the bottom slot of the vending machine, happily waiting for his food to be released, frowning and furrowing his eyebrows when an edge of the bag got caught on the metal hook.  _Seriously?_

“ _Aish_ , it does that all the time,” Jinyoung heard a preppy voice say from behind him, and he groaned in response, not wanting to hear from another overly-happy doctor that day. He was about to stand up and admit his defeat to the machine with an exaggerated arm-flail when a foot swung out from behind him and smacked the vending machine violently, bag of chips jerking and flopping out of the grasp of the metal hook.

“That does it.” The voice said, giggling.

Jinyoung lifted his head, finally acquiring the chance to learn who the owner of said voice was. He nearly choked on his own saliva, as the owner of the preppy voice was not a doctor, but a small and frail boy, probably a teenager, Jinyoung guessed. He looked at the oversized red hoodie on the boy, the small balls of lint attached to it in some spots, the slim fingers peeking out at the bottom of the sleeves. Then Jinyoung noticed the boy’s face, the beige, knit hat pulled over his head, a ball of yarn attached to the top, how pale his skin was, how /sick/ he looked, yet how happy he looked, almost like he wasnt ill at all. He would have almost thought the boy wasn’t a patient, but the metal pole his left hand was grasping tightly with labeled bags attached to the hooks, tubes extending from them and leading underneath the collar of the boy’s hoodie, told him otherwise.

The boy cleared his voice, and Jinyoung’s face flushed as he realized he was staring back at him, with an eyebrow raised.

“Am I _that_  beautiful to stare at?” The boy teased, before erupting into a loud fit of laughter. Jinyoung felt the pace of his heartbeat pick up at the tune, at how innocent and carefree the laughter sounded.

It was Jinyoung's turn to clear his throat, standing from his knees and wiping his hands on the thighs of his jeans.

“Your two great eyes will slay me suddenly; their beauty shakes me who was once serene,” Jinyoung begun with a smirk, winking at the boy before reaching down to retrieve his snack. He turned back to the boy and opened his mouth to speak.

“Straight through my heart the wound is quick and keen.” The boy grinned up at him, round eyes glimmering, a pale blush displayed across his cheeks. Jinyoung felt his own lips fade into a smile, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand awkwardly.

“You like poetry, I see?” Jinyoung asked shyly, although it sounded more like a statement than a question. The boy’s smile widened even more at this, another note of laughter escaping his mouth as he raised one of his sweater paws to his mouth, other hand still wrapped around the pole.

“And literature.” He added in response, tugging at the hat rested on his head, suddenly feeling a tad sheepish.

Jinyoung nodded, peeling his eyes away from the younger to open the small bag of sweet potato chips, popping one in his mouth.

“I’m Park Jinyoung.” He said softly, eyes wrinkling from his own smile. The boy giggled, and suddenly Jinyoung felt a powerful urge to protect the boy and make him continue laughing.

“Choi Youngjae.” He replied, sticking his tongue out from between his teeth. “Visiting?” Youngjae questioned, tilting his head when he noticed the badge on the other boy’s sweater. Jinyoung hummed in response.

“I, uh, volunteer here sometimes during the day when I don’t have classes.” He answered hesitantly, preferring to avoid offending Youngjae.

“That’s sweet…” Youngjae said quietly, smiling and slipping his bottom lip into his mouth. “I got quite lonely when I started to spend weeks here, we all really like being able to have friends sometimes… even if it is kind of like, charity work, or something.” He chuckled.

Part of Jinyoung wanted to ask what he was admitted for, but even he was percipient enough to know that would be a thickheaded question to ask.

“Well, uh, we definitely… like to uh, help out.” Jinyoung stumbled over his words, apologizing and feeling his face heat up profusely. Youngjae seemed to find amusement in Jinyoung’s embarrassment, because the younger let out a loud string of laughter after that, hunching over and wheezing with his arm wrapped around his own torso.

“Ah, Jinyoung-ssi, you don’t need to be so timid,” He giggled, rubbing over his ribs as if to soothe his lungs. “I won’t break, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He winked, and Jinyoung looked back down at his bag of chips, heat spreading to the tips of his ears and down his chest. Suddenly Jinyoung regretted wearing a turtleneck. He looked up, just as the younger was leaning closer to him, pressing his mouth close to his ear, Jinyoung’s eyes widening.

“ _We know what we are, but know not what we may be_.“

And inevitably, Jinyoung found himself dreaming, that night on the uncomfortable wooden chairs of the waiting room, about the cheery boy who had a laugh that, for a second, turned the black and white of his world into a canvas of contrasted watercolor. 


	3. lay with me and let’s forget the world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jinyoung and Youngjae encounter again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for taking nearly a month to update!! :-((( i missed this fic a lot but it seems nobody liked it much,, so i feel a bit unmotivated but i love this plot so u know what its ok!!

Youngjae was having trouble sleeping that night, due to the pounding headache and nausea the chemotherapy was oh-so-kindly causing him, and managed to sneak out of his room to walk around the ward, not really caring about getting caught. He was already dying - it’s not like he could get threatened with anything for getting caught. 

He had been walking through the halls for a few minutes, and wanted to stop to take a break - his lungs were  _not_ having it. He found himself in one of the small waiting rooms. How convenient. There were only a few people in the room, as most people in the building at this hour were either doctors, nurses, or patients. There was one man, though, that caught Youngjae’s eye. A familiar man with a white turtleneck. Youngjae smiled, and weakly walked towards the sleeping boy, awkwardly wheeling his IV pole along with him. He sat down in one of the stiff chairs next to the older, and shook him gently, giggling. 

“Jinyoung-ssi.” He called softly, another giggle erupting from his throat as fhe older man furrowed his brows, lips parted. “Yah, ahjussi!” Youngjae said louder, ruffling the older’s hair. Jinyoung opened one eye, and upon seeing the younger boy, a shy blush crept upon his cheekbones. It faded quickly, buf Youngjae still saw it, indeed. 

“Ahjussi? Yah! I’m not that old! I’m barely a legal adult!” Jinyoung whined dramatically, lower lip jutting out. Youngjae threw his head back as he laughed. Jinyoung thought poetry was beautiful, but compared to the youned boy, it was nothing. 

Youngjae blushed, looking back at Jinyoung shyly. The latter blinked, confused, then it suddenly hit him. 

“Did I say that out loud..?” He asked with an awkward chuckle, and Youngjae nodded in response before he erupted into another fit of laughter. Jinyoung smiled at that, but this quickly faded as the laughter was replaced with wheezing and coughing, Youngjae doubling over. “Youngjae-ah?? Are you okay? Do I need to call a nurse?” Jinyoung asked frantically, sitting up completely at that point. He hesitated before reaching over to place a hand on the younger’s back, rubbing it soothingly. Youngjae’s coughing fit siezed, and he shut his eyes to get his breath back under control. 

“I’m okay, Jinyoung-ssi -“

”Just call me Hyung.” 

“Okay... Jinyoungie-hyung,” Youngjae giggled softly, silently whining as the older retracted his hand from his body. “You shouldn’t be sleeping here. You’ll wake up with a kink in your neck, or you’ll get cold...” he started. 

“It’s okay. It’s storming outside, and I’d rather not risk getting into a car accident. i’ll just stay here until tomorrow, when the weather calms down.” Jinyoung explains with a sigh, running his fingers through his hair. Youngjae pouts, shifting in position, facing the older with his legs crossed on the wooden chair. 

“No way! I am  _not_ letting you sleep on these horrid chairs all night!” Youngjae sulked before standing up. “There’s an extra bed in my room - my parents don’t bother to stay here anymore, so you can feel free to sleep with me- I mean, in my room.” he corrected himself with a blush, grabbing Jinyoung’s hand and pulling him up with all of the tiny bit of strength he had, before the older could protest. 

Jinyoung eventually found himself lying in a bed beside the younger boy’s own, staring at the ceiling in thought, drowning in the scent of Youngjae that filled the room. The smell of lavender, vanilla, and hospital smell. It was a bit strange to admit, yes, but something about being only a few feet from the smaller boy as he slept peacefully was calming and reassuring to Jinyoung. The whole room made Jinyoung’s heart beat just a little faster - the small drawings taped onto the wall, the large quilt with a picture of a puppy that was draped across Youngjae - it made him feel warm and fuzzy inside. 

Youngjae just made him feel warm and fuzzy inside. It was a scary thought, for many reasons, but at that moment, Jinyoung didn’t want to worry about that, almost felt as if he didn’t have to, because everything felt right. 


	4. i had a lover's quarrel with the world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter, im sorry!!! TT   
> its kind of just a filler, but it also goes more into detail about youngjaes emotions n all that (not so) fun stuff. enjoy this update!

A week after his encounter with the pretty volunteer boy, Youngjae had gone home after his round of chemotherapy and woke up one day unable to move without wanting to cry out and scream in pain. His mother had declared he wasn't allowed to leave the house _at all_ , nor leave his bed until he felt like he could move again without the feeling of his body dying from the inside out. 

"Youngjae, sweetie," his mother called, cracking open his bedroom door with a bowl in hand. Youngjae attempted to sit up, but gasped out and collapsed once again as a sharp pain shot throughout his body, from the top of his spine to his toes. His eyes watered, and his mother hurried towards him, setting the bowl on his bedside nightstand on her way. " _Adeul!_ Are you okay? Is it your lungs? Or your hip? Do we need to call the doctors? Or take you to the hospital? Do you need your -" 

"- No,  _eomma_. I'm -" He took a shaky breath. "I'm okay. I'll be okay." He insisted, voice scratchy and weak. He laughed bitterly. "This is my normal." 

Youngjae's mother pressed her lips into a tight line as she sat on the bed next to her son, reaching out to gently caress his face with her thumb, her facial expression unreadable. He weakly swatted her hand away, turned on his side to face the opposite direction. She sighed deeply.

"Are you still mad, Jae?" She asked softly, and Youngjae flinched at the affectionate nickname - one she had only ever used in an attempt to be comforting. It made his heart break, just a little. He loved his mother, he, without a doubt, always would, but he couldn't bring himself to let go of the initial response to his coming out. He wasn't one that let go of grudges. After a few moments of no response, his mother only brushed a hand through her hair and huffed. "I'm sorry,  _adeul_. The soup is on your nightstand... eat, please. Your body needs it." Is all she said before standing up and leaving the room, leaving the door slightly ajar for easy access to her son's bedroom, just in case. 

Suddenly, Youngjae couldn't contain his emotions. Ugly, heart wrenching sobs broke out from his throat, and he had to press his face into his pillow with as much force as he could to keep himself from making noise and worrying his parents. Fat, hot tears rolled down his hollowed cheekbones. 

It wasn't fair. The world was cruel, he had decided. What had he done to deserve this? His immune system was practically nonexistent, his lungs were breaking down, his hip  _fucking hurt_ , his heart hurt, he was lonely, he had no  _fucking hair_ , and he was bed bound. All his life, ever since he could walk to that very moment, he had always tried his hardest to please others and be the nicest little boy he could. He always put other people before himself, as unhealthy as that was, and he still did. He prioritized others over himself. After trying to nothing but his best, this is what Youngjae gets in return.  _This._ He hated the world, he thought. If the world was a person, Youngjae would smack the shit out of it (he would either way, but frankly, the earth was very important and very kind, and it would be very impolite and uncalled for). 

He wanted to disappear. What was the point in existing if he couldn't do anything? He couldn't dance anymore, he could barely sing, he couldn't go to school, he couldn't take Coco on walks anymore, couldn't play with her for hours running around the park. If the doctors had told him he was going to die, which he knew he was, probably, he wouldn't care anymore. He already felt long gone, only as if he was a spirit waiting to move on to the afterlife. Right now, he wouldn't really mind death. 

Youngjae was once optimistic and care-free, but now, he was unsure whether he could ever be happy again.


End file.
